


you're crashing on the floor with me (but i can't sleep)

by lilevans



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Drinking, Implied homophobia, M/M, Midnight, Phone Calls, Teenagers, mild drug use, mild sexual references, mlm, uhhhhh i love these idiots and they call each other in the middle of the night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-07 01:58:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12830916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilevans/pseuds/lilevans
Summary: “I thought you would call at a decent hour like a normal person, Richie.”“You know me better than that.”richie and eddie + "things you said at 4am"





	you're crashing on the floor with me (but i can't sleep)

**Author's Note:**

> heyyy this was written for my friend sarah on tumblr!! it's hella cheesy and i'm still not 100% comfy w my portrayal of m/m relationships so if somethings off let me know!
> 
> theres a playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/phoenixintheashes/playlist/4j8EAjXaoQgh5COnmlSpwv) if you wanna jam to it while u read!

 

* * *

> **_X: “you’re fucked, tozier.”_ **

Eddie mumbles it the first time Richie calls him. They’re thirteen, unsure of what’s just happened with the whole fucking clown thing, but ed’s hand still stings from where they cut his hand, his cast still has the word LOVER etched into it, and his mother is still edging somewhere between smothering him and not talking to him at all.

Eddie doesn’t remember how he got the phone back into his room, but its 4am and its better to not ask questions.

“What do you even do at this time of night, Richie?” Eddie asks the dark as he stares into the ceiling. He thinks of the stars outside, and how it would be better to be looking at them right now.

“You know, masturbate.” Richie doesn’t miss a beat, and Eddie scrunches his face up in disgust. Richie laughs into his silence, knowing what Eddie’s reaction is already.

“You asked, Ed’s,” Eddie nods slightly, then realises Richie can’t see him.

“I guess I did.”

“What about you?” Richie’s voice cracks slightly in the quiet, and Eddie decides he likes the sound. He’d never admit that out loud though.

“Staring at the ceiling. I guess this silence is good at this time of night.” He’s lying. He hates 4am silence, it’s numbing and never ending, and Richie and his heavy breathing down the other end of the phone are what make it bearable.

“Steal some alcohol and drink whiskey while listening to Radiohead, Eds. Staring at the ceiling is much more fun then.” Ed snorts and makes a comment about not believing a word of Richie’s bullshit, but the truth is that Eddie knows enough about Richie to know he probably did that.

“You’re fucked, Tozier.” The words are laced with playful venom, the kind that’s only aggressive affection. Richie makes a sound like he’s pretending to be offended.

“Aren’t we all, Ed’s?”

Eddie thinks about it for a moment. “I guess we are.”

“See you in the morning, spaghetti.” The dial tone rings out, and Eddie is alone again.

But now, the feeling of numbness in his chest feels a little less present, and Eddie rolls over and goes to sleep, mumbling in his sleep about his asshole friend.

* * *

> **_IX: “you wish, Eddie spaghetti,”_ **

4 months later, and Eddie picks up the phone, feet cold on the tiles of the kitchen. He forgets all sense, all reason, and why he’s calling  _Richie_ of all people, but the dialling tone is already calling him before he can think it through.

“Howdy, partner.” Richie sounds simultaneously bleary-eyed and wide awake, and Eddie sighs quietly, wondering how he does it.

“How do you even know who it is?” Eddie mumbles crankily, sarcasm and snarkiness returning as his defence. Defence from what, he doesn’t know.

“Ed’s, who else would call me at 4am? Everyone else is fucking asleep.”

Eddie chooses to ignore the question. “Why aren’t you?”

“I’m a gamer, I got a new high score on my game gear..” Eddie snorts loudly, and he bites his lip. He hopes his mother doesn’t hear him.

“Why are you really awake?”

Richie quietens down on his line, like he’s debating to give a real option.

“I had a fucked up dream, man.”

“Same.” Eddie can only respond with that, because it’s the truth.

“I’m kind of glad you called,” Richie says down the line, and Eddie hears him fall into his bed. He brings the phone to his room again.

“Is that because most of the time I’m fucking repulsed by you?”

“Yoooouu wish, Eddie Spaghetti. You can’t resist my charm.”

Eddie is silent for a second, because no response comes to hand. All he knows is that  _yes, I can, thank you very much. You’re definitely the most annoying thing on this planet._

“EDDDSSS? You there?” Richie’s sing-song voice cuts Eddie out of his thoughts abruptly.

“Yeah, I gotta go. Thanks, I guess.”

“Anytime, Eddie Spaghetti. You just can’t resist  _this._ ”

Eddie snorts one last time, then hangs up, half-smiling.

* * *

> **_VIII: “keep your shitty music away from me, Richie.”_ **

Richie doesn’t think he’s ever got his head screwed on right. Especially when it comes to Eddie Kaspbrak. They keep calling each other at odd hours, talking bullshit. Sometimes, when the nightmares get real bad, Eddie comes over and they take swigs of the rum Richie stole from his mom. But Richie is still always confused that Eddie calls him and not Bill. Wouldn’t Bill be more helpful? All Richie knows is that he can talk himself senseless, dumb impressions and bullshitting his way through everything. And yet Eddie keeps calling him, keeps coming over, keeps picking up the phone.

“I kind of made you a tape, Eds.”

“Better not be your sex tape, Tozier.” Eddie is sharp in the 4am light. It’s May and the sun is beginning to rise earlier again.

“No, what the fuck Ed’s? I’d rather give  _that_ to someone who actually deserves it.”

“Well I don’t want it.”

Richie laughs and does a dumb impression that he definitely doesn’t remember the name of. But he hears Eddie’s disapproving laugh and it doesn’t really matter.

“It’s got MC HAMMER on it though,” Richie laughs, pushing his glasses further up his nose.

“Uh, keep your shitty music away from me, Richie! You know I can’t  _stand_ MC HAMMER.”

“He’ll consume your soul, Ed’s, you just won’t see it coming.”

“I would rather hear your not-completely-terrible Yoda impression on repeat then listen to MC HAMMER on a tape  _you_ made.”

Richie stumbles momentarily. “…Was… That a  _compliment_ I heard, Ed’s?”

“Absolutely not,” Eddie does not miss a beat, and Richie sighs lightly into the phone. If this was more appropriate time of day, if they were with the others, Stan would take Eddie’s side, Bill would sigh, Ben and Mike would look at each other and roll their eyes, and Bev would laugh. Richie likes that they can talk without the others watching though. It reminds him of what is real.

“And don’t call me that,” Eddie adds as an afterthought, slightly too late. Richie lets him.

“See you at school tomorrow, Spaghetti.”

“Asshole. Don’t call me that eith-” Richie hangs up before Eddie can give him another heart palpitation.

_Pull it together tozier._

* * *

> **_VII: “your voice is cute at 4am, Ed’s”_ **

“What do you want for your birthday, Ed’s?” Richie asks down the line. It’s August and Eddie only has 3 weeks to be fourteen. Richie sort of wants to make it count.

“I don’t care. I didn’t even think you would even remember.” Eddie breaths down the line, and Richie can picture his little frown creasing his face.

“Of course I remember.”

“Only because Bill reminded you, I bet.”

Richie shrugs, then realises that Eddie can’t see him. “Only a little bit. I remembered it’s in September if that’s helpful.” It’s a lie. Richie’s sort of had it memorised since they met.

“Liar.”

“So what do you want?”

“Just get me a record or a new game or something, I don’t give a shit.”

Richie quietens for a moment, unsure if Eddie is exasperated because Richie is Richie or if something else is up.

“Is your mom still a certified fucking pain in the ass?”

Eddie sighs. “Yep. She barely talks to me. But right now I’m just pissed off because her snoring can be heard anywhere in this damn house.”

“Just come crash at mine.” The offer just slips off, unintentional and meaningful all at once.

“That will piss  _her_ off, though.” Richie can tell Eddie is biting his lip. It’s probably adorable.

“All the more reason.”

“Okay.”

He hangs up and is at Richie’s door in fifteen minutes.

“Asshole,” He greets slightly sleepily as Richie silently opens the door.

“Your voice is cute at 4am, Eds.”

“Don’t push it, Richie.”

* * *

> **_VI: “I can’t sleep again”_ **

Eddie always walks the line between being grateful for Richie and wanting to murder him. And Richie always walks the line between tolerable and complete trashmouth. But right now, being fifteen and seeing blurry faces of clowns and hearing Stan’s terrified screams, reliving the break of his own arm, it’s a night where Richie isn’t such a shithead.

“Ah, here we are again,” Richie says as he answers. It’s been two years and they both know they’re the only two who would call at this hour. For whatever fucked up reason.

“I can’t sleep again,” Eddie doesn’t see the point in avoiding it, because it’s all he can think about. It’s 4am and he can’t sleep and all he wants is Richie’s stupid voice and stupid jokes.

“Do you think Bill ever has trouble sleeping? The guy seems like he’s made of steel and heroism some days,” Richie makes a non-committal noise, and Eddie knows he’s not saying it out of spite, but curiosity. Richie’s always looked up to Bill, the way the rest of them have.

“I don’t know. I called you, not Bill.” Eddie says sharply, but not unkindly. He knows Bill probably calls Bev when he’s like this. And vice versa.

Eddie sort of decides that Richie is his Bev, but the implications of that scare him a little too much for 4 in the morning.

“Do you ever think superheroes can be happy?” Richie asks into the phone, and Eddie’s eyebrow quirks tiredly. What’s he playing at?

“Are you asking this because in the comics heroes are just given trauma trauma and more trauma?”

“Yes. It’s annoying that Batman is depressed all the time. I mean, doesn’t beating the crap out of villains relieve some sort of stress?”

“I guess, but maybe that’s what’s causing the stress.” Eddie doesn’t know why he’s playing along, but he already feels a little more at ease. Talking trash with the trashmouth.

“That’s true, but that’s nothing a good wank won’t fix.”

“Richie! Ugh, I fucking  _don’t_ want to know.”

And they go on like that until Eddie falls asleep, still clutching the phone when his watch alarm goes off at 6am.

* * *

> **_V: “I think tears for fears are gonna rule the world.”_ **

“Come over,” Richie whispers into the phone, dead quiet. It feels a bit too serious, and it fucking scares Eddie. To death.

“Why?” his voice is slightly shaky and cracks, just a little. 4am doesn’t really suit him.

“I’m having a revelation,” Richie smiles and Eddie can hear it through the phone.

“Idiot, what is it?”

“I think Tears for Fears are gonna rule the world someday.”

Eddie fully snorts into the phone, then falls short when he hears his mother roll over in her sleep.

“Whatever gave you that impression?”

“Think about it, Eds. They actually wrote a fucking song called ‘everybody wants to rule the world.’ Perfect decoy while they actually take over the world if you ask me,”

“Nobody did ask you,”

“Not the point, spaghetti.”

“How many fucking times do I have to tell you not to call me that?”

“Until the day I die, Eds.”  

 _That doesn’t even make sense,_ Eddie thinks, but doesn’t say. The silence can cut, and Eddie doesn’t know how to fill it, not really. He just wants to tell Richie  _I like your fucking dumb voice, and the fact that you never shut up means I never have to fill the silence_ but he knows it’s better if he doesn’t.

“How will they do it?” He says instead.

“What?”

“How will Tears for Fears take over the world?”

“Well-” Richie launches into a reel about the plan for world domination and Eddie thinks his chest will never feel lighter. But he will never, ever say that out loud.

* * *

> **_IV: “stop calling me a fucknugget Richie it isn’t funny or cute”_ **

Richie picks up the phone without thinking these days. Can’t sleep? Call Eddie. Drinking his mom’s run on the bedroom floor again? Call Eddie. It’s a bad habit, and Richie has no intention of breaking it.

“One of these days I’m actually gonna be asleep, you know.” Eddie yawns as he answers.

“Fucknugget, you’re sixteen tomorrow. Think I wouldn’t call to say happy birthday?”

“I thought you would call at a decent hour like a  _normal_ person, Richie.”

“You know me better than that.”

“That’s true. I know how terrible you are.” Richie pretends to be offended, but he knows he makes Eddie smile sometimes, and that the two of them poking each other in the ribs and seeing how far they can push each other is how they say  _you mean something to me. I just don’t know what yet._

Richie pushes that thought from his mind. Far away from it.

“Do you wanna meet in the park? Bring some birthday rum,” Eddie says into the dark, and Richie has never been more surprised.

“Ed’s? Is this… you being a teenager?”

“Shut the fuck up. Fuck the rules. Meet me in 10.”

Richie bikes there, through their fucking shitty town, two bottles of rum his mother won’t notice is gone in his backpack. Eddie is on the swings, feet dragging in the bark.

“I kind of feel like we should have invited the others,” Eddie says, biting his lip adorably.

“Am I not good enough for you, fucknugget?” Richie asks accusingly as he passes a bottle to him.

“Stop calling me that, Richie, it’s not funny or cute. Where the fuck did it even come from?”

“No clue.” He shrugs and takes a swig from the other bottle. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I just feel like sometimes I don’t include everyone enough.”

“Trust me, spaghetti, you’re fine. Drink up.”

“Stop fucking calling me-” Eddie winces, then gags as he takes his first sip.

“Fuck,” He splutters, “How do you drink this?”

Richie shrugs again, kicking his converse into the bark like Eddie. “You get used to it the more you drink it.”

Eddie takes another sip, pulling another face. “Aren’t you supposed to mix it with shit?”

“That’s for wimps.”

They sit like that in the park for a bit, kicking their feet into the dirt as they swing slowly, swigging burning alcohol, and talking shit. Richie drags Eddie back to his house when he passes out and the sun starts rising, ignoring the ache in his gut, hoping that whatever dumb thing he feels for Eddie will pass.

* * *

> **_III: “Ed’s you’re allowed to not be okay.”_ **

Eddie only calls him crying once. He’s been 16 for 48 hours and the whole Loser’s club came over to get drunk with him. His mother put the TV on loud and pretended she didn’t care. Eddie tries to act like she’s actually said more than 3 words to him for his birthday.

Richie held his hand for a whole there, and neither of them knew why. It just sort of felt right, holding hands while they sit on the bed with droopy eyes listening to Bill’s stories, Ben’s history, Stan’s pessimism going down the drain in his drunk state. Bev puts Eddie’s favourite record on and Mike actually gets so drunk he does some insane dance moves.

But now, it’s 4am and Eddie (accidently) got drunk off the leftover whiskey Richie left behind, and he’s fucking out of his mind.

“Riiiicchiiee.” He says into the phone, drowsily, yet full of purpose.

“Ed’s are you okay?” Richie actually sounds concerned, but drunk Eddie doesn’t give a shit.

“You’reeee a fuckin asshollleeee.” He slurs, messily.

Richie chuckles, somewhat nervously. “What the fuck have I done now?”

“Yoooouu only kiss girlsssss,”

The pin drops.

“I’m lonelyyyyy, and you always joke with me, bring me rum at 4am, and I think I liked holding your handdd. It fucking sucks that kissing boys is wrrrroong.”

“Eddie – it’s way past your bedtime. Go to bed.” It’s a joke wrapped up in sensibility, and Richie doesn’t know why he’s being sensible, he’s  _never_ sensible, but this scares him. It’s sort of what he wants to hear, but it’s also most likely gonna be forgotten tomorrow.

The worst part is, Eddie probably doesn’t even mean it. And that’s why Richie needs to shut him down.

“No, YOU need to go to bed.”

“Are you okay?” Richie’s breath hitches.

Eddie sighs deeply into the phone, and Richie can almost feel it on his ear. Almost.

“No, not really.”

“Ed’s, you’re allowed to not be okay,”

“I think I’m just vvvveerrrry drunk.”

“I agree.” Richie’s voice cracks, just a little. Eddie doesn’t care.

“Can we forget this everrrrr happened?” Eddie sounds tired and kind of desperate, Richie wants to kick himself for thinking it’s cute.

“You won’t remember anyway.”

“That’s trueee. Goodnight. Asshole.”

He hangs up abruptly.

They never speak of it again.

* * *

> **_II: “Hey, trashmouth, I think your voice is the good part of 4am.”_ **

Richie presses himself against the humming fridge, waning moonlight falling over his figure and curls falling haphazardly into his face. He doesn’t care. He holds the phone in one hand, fingers of the other ready to dial Eddie’s number, which is memorised on his fingertips. He’s not sure why he’s hesitating, but he’s already subconsciously made the decision before he’s pressed a single button.

He’s gonna take Bev’s advice.

She said it two weeks ago, and two years ago, and he always thought he would never listen, but here he is, calling at 4am, like usual, but this time with new purpose.

_“You like him, Rich,”_

_“Fuck, no.”_

_“Fuck yes, Rich, you’re just scared.”_

_“You don’t know that,”_

_“Yes I do. I know you. You made him a mixtape. Which you still haven’t given him. Because you’re afraid.”_

_“Why the flying fuck would I be afraid to give Eddie a mixtape?”_

_“Because the songs you picked will make him realise how you feel.”_

_“Shit.”_

_“You know what you should do?”_

_“What, Bev?”_

_“Fucking tell him. It’s the only way to resolve it.”_

_“Or the only way to watch him leave for real.”_

_“You being you could do that to anyone, trashmouth. But we all stay, Eddie especially. So just say something. Anything.”_

_“Something. Anything.”_

_“Oh, fuck you.”_

He presses Eddie’s number into the phone, then hangs up as soon as he hears that it’s calling. Deep breath. Not so bad. Just calling Eddie “Ed’s” Spaghetti at 4am like every other time.

He calls again, and this time, waits for Eddie to pick up. He sounds bleary-eyed and sleepy.

“Hey, Rich.”

“Hey, Spaghetti.”

“What’s up?”

“Oh, I didn’t actually want to talk to you. This is a booty call for your mom,” Jokingly, like always, hoping Eddie doesn’t catch the nervous crack in his voice.

“Yeah, yeah, fuck off.”

“Did you ever listen to Blink-182?”

“Yeah, a little bit. Much better than MC HAMMER, I gotta say.”

Richie chuckles, agreeing. He silently vows that he’ll always love MC HAMMER.

“Sun comes up soon, now it’s summer our days are longer again,” He can’t tell if Eddie is reaching for conversation or just talking about summer because it’s his favourite time of year, even if infections and diseases are rife this season.

“Yeah I know, which means I’ll be crashing at yours more often soon.”

“Oh god, no.”

“I told you before, I’m there for your mom, not you.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, forgetting why they even call anymore. Richie decides that they just like the sounds of each other’s voices in the 4am light. He’s gearing up to say it, feeling the words like gymnasts within his stomach.

_I like you. Maybe. Possibly._

But Eddie has to ruin it with something fucking sappy and ridiculous.

“You know, Trashmouth, your voice is the good part of 4am. Only time I actually like the sound of it.”

Richie bits his lip. Too late to say anything now. Oh, well. Big sigh.

“Blow me, asshole.” He already knows Eddie is scrunching up his face, just like he did when they were twelve. Richie often forgets they’re seventeen now, getting high in parks and only just passing school.

“Shit, my mum is up. I gotta go, Rich.” Eddie says quickly in a hushed tone.

Richie doesn’t say anything, he just lets Eddie hang up. He’s stuck between wishing he said something and being glad he didn’t. He can feel Bev glaring at him from the future, when hr tells her he chickened out.

He just rolls his eyes and shuffles back to bed.

* * *

> **_I: “I love you.”_ **

Eddie doesn’t know how to explain it. Richie makes him feel quiet and loud all at once, and it’s fucking confusing. How can someone make him feel everything at once? He’s annoyed, spitting insults that don’t mean anything, yet this comfortable warmth always spreads through him when Richie is talking to him, like he’s drinking smooth rum.

Then, sometimes, there’s just this jolt of electricity, neither of them know what it is, but it’s like the power lines are burning from being overpowered, like lightning is striking directly between them.

And that’s why Eddie calls him that night, but he will never admit to himself.

That’s why he’s been calling him the whole time, just to feel the spark, to have an excuse to talk shit with trashmouth until the sun comes up. By the time they’re seventeen, it’s natural, nothing else makes sense.

It’s August, one week until school comes back, and the phones are in their rooms, like usual, and they’re just talking about nothing, the X Men comics and the movies in the cinema they’ll read reviews for but will never watch, where all of them are gonna end up when they finish senior year, in only 10 months’ time, or even less.

They’re nearly asleep, Richie’s eyelids droop softly, and he thinks he hears Eddie snoring. So he just says it. Out of nowhere, without any hope or motivation, but purely because it’s all he can think of when he’s hearing Eddie’s breathing.

 _“I love you,”_  Eddie jolts awake. He bits his lip, hard, in shock. Then he hangs up. 

Richie feels everything he’s just eaten in his throat.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck FUCK.”

He calls Bill, fingers trembling, numb, and panicking.

“Fuck, Fuck, Bill, fuck.”

“Richie it’s 3 in the morning, this better be good.”

“I told Eddie I love him.”

Bill only snorts. “About F-fucking time.” He says, yawning.

Richie punches the cupboard. His mom stirs, slightly.

“He hung up.”

“It’s fine, Rich, he probably just went to sleep. Like a normal person. Good luck.”

Richie punches the wall again, swearing in one long, impressive string. He thinks he’s crying.  _Fucking great._

He calls Bev.

“I told him I loved him and he hung up on me and Bev I know it’s early and I am  _shit_ at feelings but I think I’ve really fucked up.” He rushes it out before he can hear her protests, and he only feels worse once he’s said it out loud.

“Rich, Rich, slow down. You told him what?”

He explains again. Slower.

Bev laughs tiredly into the receiver, and before she can string together a response, Richie hears a tapping at the window.

Eddie sits below it, bleary eyed and looking at Richie. His bike is discarded haphazardly on the grass.

“Bev, I gotta go, I’m sorry.”

“Go get ‘em.”

Richie can feel his heartbeat everywhere as he runs down the stairs. Ears, throat, temples, and his own chest, everywhere. He pushes his glasses up his nose as he opens the door, trying desperately to compose himself. Like that’s ever fucking worked.

Eddie is breathing heavily as Richie opens, and Richie tries to grasp at a joke.

“First you want to kill me-”

Eddie doesn’t let him finish the quote, instead acts it out.

He’s messily pressing his lips against Richie’s without warning, without thinking, fuck he doesn’t even know why he biked here, but he’s wanted to do this for so long, since they got drunk in the park or high in Bill’s basement or maybe even when they first hung out with Bev in the Quarry.

Richie’s lips are rough and chapped, strange against Eddie’s smooth lips, because Eddie is terrified of having cracked lips and puts lip balm on regularly.

Richie’s hand snake around Eddie’s middle accidently, and this is probably the messiest kiss anyone has ever witnessed, but neither of them cares. Richie would rather do this once than any of the kisses he shared with girls in cupboards at parties.

They realise they have to breathe at some point, and Eddie forehead is resting again Richie’s damp curls.

“Fuck.”

“I’m not that bad at kissing, am I Ed’s?”

“No… you’re actually… not shit.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“I love you too.” Eddie looks at him, right in the eyes. “That’s what I came here to say,”

“Can I finish my Army of Darkness quote now?”

“I never want to hear you say blow me ever again thank you.”

“Fuck you,”

Eddie just kisses him again.

Richie giggles, childishly and Eddie laughs too, for no reason.

“I think the others have been betting on this you know,” Eddie mumbles.

“Bill and Bev win. They were rooting for us.” Richie replies. “We just better get a share for it.”

Eddie laughs too.

“Wanna get high in the park?”

“Thought you’d never ask,”

Richie quirks an eyebrow as they get on Eddie’s bike.

“You sure I can’t finish the quote?”

“Don’t fucking push it, trashmouth.”

“Whatever you say, spaghetti.”

**Author's Note:**

> i lov these idiots as a pair so much i hope u enjoyed!! title is from swim by fickle friends, which is on the playlist up top if u wanna give it a listen :)


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